


balneotherapy

by listlessness



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Bath Sex, F/F, Light Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Semi-Public Sex, hydrotherapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-10
Updated: 2020-04-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:27:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23570809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/listlessness/pseuds/listlessness
Summary: Much to the Doctor's reluctance, she's once again encouraged to have a crack at a day spa planet. It's a terrible idea, sheknowsit's a terrible idea, but she's yet to find a reason not to give it a go.It makes sense, in that awful, universe-gunning-for-her-to-never-have-a-nice-day way, that Missy would also be there.The Doctor doesn't have the patience to go about creating paradoxes today.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/Missy
Comments: 5
Kudos: 38
Collections: Smut 4 Smut 2020





	balneotherapy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/gifts).



> This is for [chamilet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamilet/pseuds/chamilet) as part of the [smut4smut 2020](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/smut4smut2020) exchange.
> 
> Who doesn't want a little more Missy and femslash love in this fandom, right?
> 
> If you don't know what Finnish spas or hot/cold hydrotherapy entails, then have a quick glance at [this](https://medium.com/@relievestressrelatedhairloss/what-are-the-benefits-of-water-circuit-spa-therapy-f615abc15463). It might help a little with understanding the premise.

Maybe it was a ridiculous goal. The Doctor was willing to view it like that. She had a lot of ridiculous goals, to be fair. Climbing to the very top of the tallest tree in a certain rainforest, or diving under a very specific ocean at a very particular time of year, or even meeting a certain presidential candidate on a certain birthday. 

But _this_. 

This didn't achieve anything. There was no end goal here, except for pure indulgence. Typically, the Doctor would wave her hand, shake her head, deny herself this momentary reprieve because it didn't work towards any kind of greater good. 

It was Yaz who convinced her to do it in the end, and even then it was with a little shove in her back and a promise to pick her up in the afternoon. Although the Doctor tried pointing out that Yaz was in no position to be making such promises, on account of her not being able to fly the TARDIS, Yaz had remained firm.. 

Above her, framing the doorway, the _Starlight Luxury Day Spa_ twinkled. 

One day. One day spa. One simple massage without it all going to pot. That's all she wanted. 

There was to be no hunting down little moments of intrigue. That was what Yaz had instructed, at any rate. No investigating, no following clues that piqued her interest. A day off from being the Doctor and a day of just relaxation. 

She chose to actively ignore the flickering light in the storefront's sign. Electrical shorts happened all the time. 

The receptionist misreading the schedule and saying that the Doctor's appointment wasn't until the following week was disregarded. Maybe she'd missed her morning's coffee. The Doctor wasn't even allowed coffee, according to Yaz. 

The Doctor even decided that her locker key being misplaced after she'd changed into a plush, white robe was just a happenstance. She was looking for a mystery to solve, and her subconscious was just creating one. Besides, she immediately found it under a bench. 

There were no mysteries to be had here. She just had to keep telling herself that. 

* 

The day spa was obnoxiously white, with far too many polished marble surfaces. To most creatures, the underlying smell of bleach would barely be perceptible, but to the Doctor's sensitive nose it was almost unbearable. The heady smell of musk and vanilla wafted everywhere. The hot stones that masseuse was using on her back had been coated in something spicy, and it clashed with the rest of the scents in the room. 

She was trying to enjoy the massage. There was nothing intrinsically wrong with it. Her four-armed masseuse was trained well and had barely remarked upon the slight muscular differences that the Doctor had over most bipedal humanoids. Al'lajjah had only made the tiniest noise of recognition and had altered her method accordingly. The Doctor appreciated that. 

But her mind refused to switch off. The smells haunted her; she found herself percolating over whether the hum Al'lajjah had made was positive, negative or neutral, and the flickering light in the sign kept coming back to haunt her. Flickering lights were so damn tempting. 

She spent the entirety of the massage waiting in anticipation. She couldn't say exactly what she was waiting for, but the Doctor could feel it bubbling inside of her. She'd know what it was when it would happen. As it was, though, she lay still on her stomach, her eyes forced shut, and then rolled onto her back when Al'lajjah directed her to. She coped with the smells wafting through the room, trying to keep her attention on the feeling of the hot stones on her body. 

The Doctor had to admit to herself, through gritted teeth, that it was the longest hour of her life. Her fingers had begun to dig into the bed underneath her, her toes wiggling and stretching as she tried to keep her mind as clear as possible. The whole point of this adventure had been to empty her mind. Instead, her mind was a-whirl with a dozen thoughts. 

She was sure Al'lajjah cut the massage short for that very reason. The Doctor had refused to relax; it would serve her right for her massage to be cut short for that reason. 

* 

Nobody had really expected the Nordic people to have left much of an impact on the greater galactic region. For much of Earth history, their peak had really come around the tenth and eleventh century, and then again in the twenty-second during the Second Viking Age. People didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition, but absolutely no one expected the Greenlandic Requisition. 

What had taken off in an intergalactic way, though, were Nordic baths. The concept of hot-and-cold hydrotherapy was nothing new, but it had taken off in the wider universe after the Nordic contingent reached the galaxy at large. 

The Doctor, admittedly, was a fan. 

Well, in theory. 

In practice, she found it a little difficult. For one, she hadn't owned a pair of swimwear since Jo's trip in the TARDIS (she most certainly didn't count Jack's gifted pair of bright red Speedos that were still stuffed deep in a closet). And secondly, she found the silence, which was meant to be tranquil and meditative, a little too close to unsettling. 

She liked chatter. She liked noise. She thrived off it, the conversation between strangers. She loved learning about others. Their interests, their dislikes, what made them tic and thrive. In the absence of dialogue, the Doctor loved to people watch, but the privacy endorsed by Nordic spas quietly, _silently_ , discouraged that. 

She was forced, instead, to sit on a bench, wrapped in a towel to cover herself where her long-sleeved, high-necked maillot-styled swimsuit didn't, and stare at the baths around her. The steam from the hot baths created a foggy landscape, broken only by the chilled, freezing pools that she was meant to dunk herself in for only a handful of seconds. 

The day spa itself was relatively quiet. Planets like this generally didn't have an off-season, but there was a lull in the bookings. It made the baths even quieter than normal. 

Maybe she'd pop out. Try and call Yaz, get her to come pick her up. 

'Are you just going to sit there all day?' 

The Doctor froze. 

She knew that voice. She _knew_ that voice. 

That almost audible curl of disgust layered with mirth, the way the Doctor could hear the roll of her eyes as the only other guest in the heated pool tilted her head back. The twist of fog that hovered above the water wafted towards where the Doctor sat as the woman turned to look over at her, one brow raised. 

'You're making the place look untidy.' 

The Doctor hugged the cream-hued towel tighter around herself. She wasn't uncomfortable in the swimsuit, she just felt horribly unequipped. The only thing worse than empty pockets were _no_ pockets. Jack had once suggested a hiding spot for her sonic screwdriver, but the Doctor had yet to try it. 

She had to get out of here. Feign a fainting spell, maybe that would cause Yaz to come back and pick her up. She couldn't be here, with- with _Missy_ lazing about in a pool. 

There was a splash of water from the pool. The Doctor turned away immediately, heat rising to her cheeks. There were _No Running_ signs plastered on the walls, but she'd never been very good at following the rules. 

When nothing immediately developed, though, the Doctor turned back. Missy had turned to face her, her brow still raised in curiosity, an arm simply draped over the fibreglass edge of the pool. The steam from the water had caused her already curly hair to frame her face, several locks that had been piled high and secured in place with a clip spilling out. A number of tendrils had escaped and were stuck to her shoulders and neck, in dark spirals that pointed down to the V-neck of her black bathing costume. 

From what little she could see, the Doctor guessed Missy was even more covered than the Doctor was (given her general Earth Victorian aesthetic), but seeing her in the Nordic bath felt raw. She was exposed. This was a private moment for Missy, and the Doctor had just gone and intruded, no matter how unintentionally. 

'Are you just going to sit there all day?' 

'We're not meant to be speaking,' the Doctor said, jerking her head towards the sign that said as much. _No Speaking_ was listed under _No Running_. 

'There's no one else here to complain,' Missy drawled as she sank down a little. 'And you're not even stepping into the water, which means you're not all that inclined in following the purpose of this establishment.' 

The Doctor clenched her teeth. Surely Missy didn't know who she was. _Surely_. 

But this _was_ Missy, and she had always been able to spot the Doctor in a crowd. There was never any hiding from her. The Doctor sometimes wondered if she had a giant beacon lit above her head that only Missy was capable of seeing. 

'Come on. The water's lovely. You're not just going to sit there all day, are you?' 

'Yes. No. Maybe,' the Doctor replied, short and brusque. 'You can't tell me what to do.' 

Missy eyed her. Then, slowly, she cast her eyes up to the ceiling, shook her head and settled back against the side of the pool. 

Missy knew who she was. Of course Missy knew who she was. The Doctor was a fool for even momentarily believing otherwise. It didn't matter how Missy knew (or if that meant the Master had known when they had last seen one another). The Doctor had to accept that by now there was never any running from her. 

She cast her eyes back to the door. She could still run away. Thank Al'lajjah, leave some tip because despite being a lousy client, the quality of the service had still been high. She might need to leave her boots behind, just in case Missy decided to follow, but sacrifices had to be made. 

All she'd have to do is get up. 

'Are you coming in or not?' 

'Oh, shut up. I'm coming.' 

Unfurling from the bench, the Doctor peeled the towel off and dropped it behind her. Her finger ran under the leg of her swimsuit, snapping the black spandex into place. She padded over the slightly wet tiles to the pool, trying to leave as much space between her and Missy as she reached the steps. 

The bath itself wasn't deep- calling it a pool was a slight exaggeration. At its deepest point, it barely reached the Doctor's shoulders. But she still took her time, wading slowly through the warm water until she reached the ledge Missy was sitting upon. She took three large steps so she was a good ten feet from Missy, then sat down. 

'You look well,' the Doctor said, staring at the water. 

There was a slight tug at the corners of Missy's lips, a half-smile that could potentially be covered as something else. 

If she were right (and the Doctor had to admit she often was), then this must have been early on in Missy's time. Before Missy had met the Doctor's previous form, when she was gruffer, crankier, but somehow less moody. Missy had yet to learn how to control her devious smiles and lingering looks. The Doctor at least had some advantage here. 

'I always look good,' Missy replied, coy and cocksure as ever. 

Well, at least some things remained the same. 

'You look...' Missy started, drifting off. 'This is new. Is it permanent?' 

'As permanent as anything is.' 

Although Missy didn't seem entirely satisfied with that response, she didn't question it. The Doctor could feel Missy's gaze upon her, watching her with the kind of blind intrigue that the Missy _she_ knew, later in her timeline, would never allow. This Missy, new to the Doctor, was bold. 

Drawing her knees up to her chest, her heels balancing precariously on the edge of the ledge, the Doctor wrapped her arms around her legs. 

The water was actually quite lovely. If she were alone, she might even be able to relax a little. There was just the sound of water trickling from a waterfall-styled spout along one wall, which was mildly soothing. Even the faintly scented water wasn't as overpowering as the massage room had been. 

'This doesn't seem like your usual scene. Did one of your pets bring you here?' Missy asked. 'Or is this a new interest, like your...' 

The Doctor turned when Missy didn't finish; she was gesturing at her breasts. Taking a sharp breath in through her nose, the Doctor quickly turned back away. 

'They're _friends_ ,' she said, choosing to ignore the second half of Missy's unfinished question. 'And they thought it would be a good idea.' 

'And they know you so well, don't they?' 

Missy framed her snide remark with a sigh. With her chin perched atop her knees, the Doctor stared stubbornly at the water, her teeth grit together. She didn't want to give Missy the privilege of looking at her. 

Frustratingly, though, the Doctor knew Missy was right. On the surface, this whole jaunt sounded pleasant and wonderful. The Doctor deserved an afternoon off. But the concept of relaxation and tranquillity was not something that aligned well with her. A better afternoon for her would be one circling a supernova at the moment of its implosion, sitting atop her TARDIS with a pair of binoculars and a box of custard creams on her knee. Something fascinating and slightly dangerous, full of wonder and destruction. 

'Don't start,' the Doctor finally said, her words short. 

There was no response, bar the trickle of water. A ripple cascaded from Missy, a small series of waves heading out towards the Doctor. 

She finally looked over. Missy had her head back against the ledge of the pool, the ends of her hair dipping into the water. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat of the pool, her eyes shut and lips parted as though she were close to falling asleep. 

If the Doctor didn't know any better, she'd have said Missy looked at peace. 

She knew Missy better than that. 

The Doctor let her eyes drop a little. The steam rising from the water meant it was opaque enough that she couldn't see through it very well. It didn't matter, however; the Doctor knew what Missy was doing, just from the colour in her cheeks, the way one arm was moving slightly. 

'Are you- ' The Doctor stopped herself and looked over her shoulder, just in case. Then, in a hiss, 'are you _masturbating_?' 

That had Missy opening her eyes to a sliver. They slid over to study the Doctor, before they were shut again. 

'Yes. So?' 

'I'm _right here_!' 

'And I was masturbating before you even came in here. If anything, you're interrupting me.' 

The Doctor scoffed. How typical. It didn't matter that the Doctor was trying to follow Yaz's advice and have a relaxing day (no matter how half-hearted her attempts were), it still wound up being all about Missy. 

'How can you do that here?' the Doctor hissed. 'We're in public.' 

'As far as I can see, it's only you and me. For a while it was only me.' 

'Someone could walk in!' 

Missy cracked open an eye. 'And when has that stopped me in the past?' 

The Doctor's lips pursed together tightly. Her hands slid down over her knees and shins to clasp around her ankles. Her eyes glanced towards the door, half-expecting someone to come waltzing in. 

'Are you close to being done?' 

'I was until you interrupted me.' 

A rude and rather loud noise came from the Doctor. Mouth agape, she looked over at Missy, her eyes growing wide. 

Missy looked smug. The mere sight of her lips curled up in a slight smile sent a coil of irritated heat spill through the Doctor, an irate sense of injustice burn through her. She pushed away from the wall, gliding through the water until her knees hit the side of Missy's thigh. 

Slamming one hand down behind Missy to stop herself, the Doctor took a sharp breath in through her nose. 

Yes, this Missy was still new. The way she squared her shoulders, her lips twitching into a smile, allowing the Doctor to see just how glad she was to have scored the Doctor’s attention. Her teeth caught at her lower lip as she turned, ever so slightly, to welcome the Doctor into her personal space. The Doctor had no idea if there was any truth to Missy’s remark that she had been doing this before the Doctor had entered the bath, but she wasn't about to stop and interrogate her. 

'Here,' she huffed, dropping her other hand into the water. 'Let me do it.' 

If Missy didn't believe the Doctor was serious, she hid it well. But even she gave a small hum of surprise and a tiny raise of her brows when the Doctor shoved her hand aside and slipped thin fingers into the leg of Missy's bathing costume. 

It was a little larger than the Doctor's suit, and heavier in the water. While the Doctor's swimwear had an elastic blend in the material, Missy's appeared to be more traditional and historic, made from a thicker cotton. For someone who hated humanity so much, Missy seemed to adore their fashion. 

Despite the water-soaked weight, though, the Doctor was able to slip her fingers inside. Her fingertips slid along Missy's cunt, where she was already hot and slick. 

The angle wasn't superb. The door was behind the Doctor, and she couldn't easily look over to make sure it remained shut, as her hand remained wedged inside her swimsuit up to her wrist. Her fingers had slid in deeper, crooking slightly. 

The problem with new bodies was that they came with different tics. The Doctor had once been able to rely on the Master having certain familiar interests and erogenous zones, and she had begun to learn Missy, in her old body. But this body, _her_ new body, with thin fingers and blonde hair that kept getting in the way, didn't quite know Missy. Time separated them, and it had been just a whisper too long since the Doctor had known her. 

'Up a little,' Missy hissed. Then, when the Doctor didn't immediately alter her position, Missy grabbed her by the wrist and adjusted her hand. 'Up!' 

Sure, this body was new, relatively speaking... but Missy's wasn't. Not to the Doctor at least. And, luckily for the Doctor, Missy likely didn't realise that. 

'You think I don't know that?' the Doctor hissed. 'Now hold still.' 

Stretching her thumb up a little, the Doctor pressed against Missy's clit. There was the faintest scratch of hair against the heel of her hand, the sharp jut of Missy's hip against her wrist as she tried to tilt her hand into a better position. Her fingers crooked again, right as she pressed them in again. Slowly, deeply, curling until Missy gave a tell-tale shudder. 

It didn't matter the body. The Doctor knew _that_ sign. 

'I was- I was doing just fine until- ' 

'You take too long,' the Doctor interrupted, hissing as she gave a quick glance over her shoulder. 'You always have.' 

She slid her fingers down and out. Her hand kept catching at the leg of the suit. The lack of elastic was a problem. Of course Missy would find a way to be troublesome, even in her choice of swimwear. Somehow she was able to twist her fingers, just enough that she could push three inside, her thumb still rubbing a small circle. 

This would have been more effective in her previous body. Longer, thicker fingers, when she could loom a little more effectively over Missy instead of balancing on her knees on a too-small ledge as she fought against a ridiculous, era-specific swimming costume. It would have been easier to haul her out, sit Missy on her lap, unzip her trousers and- 

Well. The Doctor didn't exactly have anything easily at hand to fill in the gap there. She could make do like this. 

Missy's back arched as the Doctor's fingers pressed inside again. Between the way the Doctor moved her hand and an awkward rocking of Missy's hips, they had begun to find a slight rhythm. It was off-kilter, and the occasional splash of water came up to hit the Doctor on the chin, but she wasn't about to give up. Neither, it appeared, was Missy. 

She lifted an arm out of the water. The Doctor moved just slightly, allowing Missy to reach behind her and grab the back of the Doctor's maillot. There was a tug and the Doctor swore she could feel the threads pulling. 

The sodden, black cotton of Missy's swimsuit clung to her body. If the Doctor looked close, she could just see the edge of her nipples, hard and straining against the material. A part of her longed to reach up, grab one, maybe loosen the buttons that held the suit together and reach a hand inside. But that would be giving in to Missy. The Doctor couldn't do it, she absolutely refused to. 

It didn't help that Missy's head fell to the side a little. She could feel a soft puff of air against the side of her throat, the slight brush of lips against the cords of her neck as her fingers twisted a little again. The water wasn't aiding things, but nothing with Missy was ever easy. 

'Doctor,' Missy whispered. Then, a little more urgently, ' _Doctor_.' 

She knew what Missy wanted. Sure, Missy played at being distant, as though she were batting at the Doctor like a cat did with a mouse, but the Doctor knew Missy was always on the hunt for something else: approval. 

And really, hadn't the Doctor finally given her that, after all their years together? Sure, for the Doctor, she had already given Missy that, but Missy, in her chronological timeline, still had to work up to it. She'd get there, eventually. 

'Don't make me beg,' Missy continued, ever so carefully with a huff. 

'You're pathetic,' the Doctor muttered, without any heat. 'You'd kill me if I made you beg.' 

'No, I wouldn't.' There was a beat, which was chased with a small grunt as the Doctor ground the heel of her hand against Missy's clit. 'I'd kill you for so much less.' 

Now _that_ was definitely true. 

Shifting a little closer, allowing her body to press up against Missy's own, the Doctor let Missy’s head remain on her shoulder. The ache between her own legs was a distant hum, a slight heat she could push aside and ignore for now. The only focus she had at that moment was the desire to rip the seam out from Missy's swimsuit and to sit between her legs. Missy was slick and hot and every small shudder was a sign of how close she was. 

The Doctor could smell her, too. The saltiness of her arousal, heady and strong. It cut through the scent of the pool, wafting up and up, causing the Doctor to close her eyes and part her lips as she let her head bow ever so slightly towards Missy. There was Missy’s spicy perfume and the slight nuttiness of the cream she would run through her hair to keep it neat. A faint base layer of vanilla soap and a spritz of Yardley's lavender. Now matter how much Missy hated humanity, the Doctor knew she'd be directionless without them. 

The two of them were so closely entwined. There was no denying it. 

There was a sharp tug on the hair at the back of her head. Missy's mouth, open and lightly pressed to the side of the Doctor’s throat, kept edging higher up, closer towards the Doctor's jaw. A graze of teeth promised what lay ahead if she finally let herself press down. 

Missy's fingernails dug sharply into her back. If it weren't for the Doctor’s swimsuit, she may have scratched clean through. It was sudden enough that the Doctor hissed and crooked her fingers just as Missy jolted in her arms. 

A part of the Doctor ached to hold Missy and caress her through her orgasm. A part of her, not so deeply hidden as she would have liked to say, panged to curl up beside her in a bed somewhere private and quiet, and whisper about all the places they could still travel to. Time hadn't separated them so far that they couldn't still experience some wonderful part of the universe together. 

They could do that someday. Not today, though. Not at this small intersection of their lives. 

'Doctor- ' 

' _Missy_.' 

She could see Missy putting herself back together. The stern mask was falling back into place (this version apparently not yet comfortable in appearing so raw in front of the Doctor), the quiver in her lip being pursed tightly down. Missy still had to learn those things. 

'Don't let the sentimentality get to you.' 

But despite her words, there was still a neediness there. A whisper of want and desire. The Doctor could see it as Missy looked up at her, a hitch in her breath as the fingers inside of her slipped out and the leg of her suit shifted back in place. 

A kiss. That's what she wanted. A kiss. 

And she'd get it, someday. Maybe not in the far-flung distant future that the Doctor imagined, but someday. 

Wiping her hand on the leg of her own suit, the Doctor pushed back. The water crashed with her, swirling away from Missy as she put some space back between them. 

'I won't,' she replied. 

But Missy kept looking. A sneer was forming on her face, but it hadn't reached its entirety yet. Maybe the Doctor could keep it at bay for a little longer. 

She stood. The water swirled around her waist, but she still had just enough height over Missy. Placing a hand on the ledge of the bath, she leant over and kissed her nose. 

How many times had it been? Two or three? It had all been a whirl at the time. She'd have to guess. 

Once. 

Twice. 

Thrice. 

There, that would do it. No matter how many times it had been, the Doctor had fixed it in time now. Missy had gone slightly cross-eyed, her expression soft, though the Doctor knew that that wasn't exactly what she wanted. But when it came to the two of them, neither of them ever quite achieved that. 

'Don't stay too long,' she said. 'You'll prune. Wouldn't want that.' 

Bracing both hands on the ledge, she heaved herself out. Dripping water everywhere, she shook herself over and went to collect her towel. 

She'd only just picked it up when she heard the lilt of Missy's voice. 

'I like it. What you've done to yourself.' 

The Doctor turned, the towel wrapped around her waist. Tucking one end, she tossed her hair off of her face. Missy had draped herself back over the edge of the bath, as though nothing had just transpired between them. 

But, really, the Doctor knew that to always be the case. 

'Will you stay?' 

With her weight poised on one foot, the Doctor took a breath. That was a question she always struggled with. 

'If I stay, I might prune up like you,' she said after a beat. 'Turn into an old man.' 

'Woman.' 

'Who's counting?' 

'Is that so bad?' 

The Doctor gave a small huff. Pushing her hair behind her ear to keep it in place, catching a waft of Missy, she shook her head. Pivoting on the ball of her foot, she waved her hand in a farewell. 

'I'll see you 'round, Missy. Don't be a stranger.' 

The only response she received as she left was the sound of Missy sinking underwater and the trickle of the constant waterfall to fill the silence. 


End file.
